At the Gym
by SandWitch42
Summary: A piece of fluff inspired by sounds I actually heard at the gym. Sabriel slow burn. Depending on reviews and personal inspiration, I may come back and add to this piece at a later time.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This story is interactive. Feel free to pull up the songs as you come to them. Enjoy!

-SW

 ** _.oOo._**

 ** _"Don't Stop" - Foster the People_**

 ** _.oOo._**

Sam's foot trod on the Start/Finish line of the recycled rubber track. His momentum took him a few more steps, but each one was slower than the last until he was stopped. He took in a huge gulp of air and let it out. The track he had run was a quarter mile loop, and he had rounded it twelve times. He hated running indoors and the repetition of being stuck on a track instead of enjoying passing scenery outside, but the weather forced him into it today; it was pouring down rain. Still breathing heavily, he walked to the bench where he had left his water bottle and hand towel. The bottle had a sticker on it that read "Dihydrogen Monoxide Containment Unit - WARNING – May cause Diaphoresis, Micturition, and Acute Tissue Hydration." It had been a gift from his older brother, Dean, and he loved it. Sam tilted the bottle back and drank deeply, not caring when some water dribbled down the corner of his mouth and joined the sweat rolling down his neck. He held the towel in his other hand and used it to mop the sweat from his face. After a few more deep breaths, he was ready to walk downstairs.

The track stood on the second story of the gym, open on the inside to look down upon basketball courts. Since it was the only thing upstairs, it had the feel of a newer add-on to an older building. Mirrors dominated the walls at the ends of the straightaways; Sam supposed they were for runners to correct their form, but he didn't care for staring at himself while he ran. Other than that, he liked his local gym.

He descended stairs that took him to a long hallway. Next to the bottom stair was the door leading to the basketball courts over which he had been running. The rest of the hallway had windows all along the upper half of the walls, so there was an undisturbed view into the rooms beyond. On his right side was a room full of free weights. He had already spent some time in there this morning, before his run. He preferred to lift first; running took too much out of him to want to exert his muscles after.

To his left was the yoga studio, which was where Sam was heading. He liked a good stretch after running, and while Dean would give him a hard time about it -probably along the lines of telling him yoga was for suburban moms who drank soy lattes- he really did enjoy using a yoga mat. It was easier on his knees, and goodness knows they had been abused over the years. Being a fairly regular runner likely wasn't helping, but he refused to give up his favorite form of cardio.

As Sam's feet hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes were for his MP3 player. He was in the process of switching from good running music to something a little more soothing, and in the lull of quiet, his ears picked up sounds coming from the propped open doorway of the weight room. Someone was making some serious sex noises.

Sam chanced a peek through the windows, trying to be discrete. The rain seemed to have kept people from showing up because there were only a few bodies in there, and it was easy for Sam to pick out the guy who was making the sounds.

"Uuuhhhggghh, ssssssss!" The exhale and inhale were both obscene, and Sam was almost ready to roll his eyes and put the guy out of his mind until he really focused on him.

He was short, well, short in comparison to Sam and the company he usually kept. Dean and his boyfriend were both six foot plus. Sam, himself, was six-four. This guy was maybe five-seven, five-eight or so. Even from across the room, just the shape of his face made Sam want to take it between his hands and explore the details. His blond hair was shorter than Sam's, which was pulled into a half-looped ponytail high on the back of his head, but it was long enough that it hung messily around his temples, sweat dripping from the ends with each pump of his arms as he lifted the loaded barbell to his chest noisily. Sweat made a darkened imprint across the gray tanktop he wore, just under his pecs, and for all the world, Sam thought it looked like a pair of angel wings stretching across his torso. As that thought formed fully in his mind, he had to remind himself not to stare. He cast his eyes back down to his MP3 player and found the playlist he had put together to accompany his stretch and walked further down the hall to the door of the yoga studio. Though the two rooms were across from each other in the hall, the doors were set apart. With the music in his ears and the walls separating them, the moans from the blond weren't reaching him.

 ** _.oOo._**

 ** _"I Need U" - BTS (piano version)_**

 ** _.oOo._**

Sam helped himself to a rolled mat from the rack near the door and found a section of unclaimed floor. It wasn't difficult; there was only one other person in there, and she was tucked against the far wall, doing pushups with the aid of an upside down Bosu ball. Sam found himself feeling grateful for the rain. Less people crowding the room between actual yoga lessons meant he could get an unobstructed view of the blond hottie across the hall. Still wanting to be discrete, he turned his back to the windows facing the weight room and used the mirrors on the far wall to see him.

The blond had finished his set and was swinging his arms in a hugging motion to ease the strain on his arms. He shook his hands down in front of himself, and Sam watched as he positioned himself then crouched out of sight for a moment. He lifted back up, barbell in hands, and curled it to his chest in the first rep of his next set. Sam couldn't actually hear the noises spilling from the blond's mouth, but he remembered them well enough. They were sounds Sam wouldn't mind hearing if the two of them were together, some place alone. He tore his eyes away from the blond and tried to focus on his own post workout stretches.

The soft, almost hypnotic music washed over him, perfect for slowing his heartrate, and the familiar movements of post-run stretching took over. It wasn't until he was close to wrapping it up that he suddenly realized he hadn't peeked into the weight room in a while. His dark green eyes scanned across the mirrors, searching for the sweaty blond hair. When he didn't see him, Sam turned to look without the aid of the reflection. The blond was gone. Sam felt a stab of disappointment surge through him. He had been so careful to not stare that he ended up denying himself the simple pleasure of just enjoying the view. Dammit.

He shook off the feeling as he went through the motions of using the provided antibacterial wipes to clean off the mat he used, roll it up, and put it back on the rack. He never picked people up at the gym; it's not like he was going to start now. Sam made his way back to the hallway and followed it to the locker room. As he neared the door, the windows in the walls stopped, granting privacy beyond. He entered the room and rounded the corner past the sinks to rows of dark blue lockers.

 ** _.oOo._**

 ** _"Breathe" - Alexi Murdoch_**

 ** _.oOo._**

Standing there, with his back to Sam's entrance, was the blond from the weight room. He was in the process of removing the gray tank, and Sam had an unobstructed view of his rounded shoulders and corded back muscles, slick with sweat. Forgetting himself, Sam stared as the blond dropped his shirt on the shoes and socks already on the floor beside him. A pulse of desire tugged at Sam's groin, and he must have made a sound - _please don't let it have been verbal_ \- because the blond's head turned over his shoulder to catch Sam staring at him. This close, Sam was finally able to see that his eyes were the most amazing color he had ever seen. They were like dark honey; sinfully sweet, tempting. Like a flavor that stayed on your tongue long after you had swallowed it, Sam knew those eyes would stay with him.

The blond's eyebrows lowered, and a playfully wicked smile pulled at the corners of his lips before he turned away again to the open locker before him. He pulled out a folded, fluffy white towel and a black gym bag, both of which he set on the bench which bisected the room, making him face Sam again. When those amazing eyes locked on his once more, Sam realized he was still staring. He pulled his gaze away and forced his feet to move him to the locker he had claimed for his own belongings. It took him past the blond, and Sam could feel his eyes on his back as he walked.

 _Only fair,_ he told himself. _I was staring first._

Sam opened his locker and chanced a glance over his shoulder to the blond, and he quickly turned back again when he saw a long line of bare flesh where just a moment ago had been a pair of black basketball shorts. Heat flared up Sam's cheeks. Admiring the top half was one thing, but he didn't make a habit of being a creeper.

Something tugged at his hearing. After a moment, it occurred to Sam the blond had said something. He pulled one bud out of his ear and turned his head to look carefully at the blond's face. Just as well; he stood there with the towel in hand but hadn't wrapped it around his waist. Yes, Sam stared very hard at his face and fought himself to not look lower.

"What?"

"I said, 'did you know the back of your neck turns red when you blush?'" the blond repeated with a grin.

The heat that had been receding came back in a rush, and Sam turned again to the locker, the sound of a very sexy chuckle drifting across to him. The sharp slap of flip flops on the floor announced the blond's retreat. Sam looked over to see the towel slung carelessly over the blond's shoulder, allowing Sam an unobstructed view of a rather nicely shaped ass, firm and dimpled in on the sides, the ass of someone who knew how to take care of his body. As Sam stared, the blond glanced back, catching him, almost like he knew Sam would be looking. A dark knowledge filled his face, and that wicked smile was back. His eyebrows bounced a few times in what would have been a silly motion, but somehow, he made it look enticing. The blond disappeared around the corner that led to the gang shower.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Desire tugged at him, and while blood had been coloring his face -and neck, apparently- it had also been tightening things further south. He didn't want to stroll into the shower and show the blond exactly how he had been affected by the teasing. He took his time in undressing and gathering his hygienic supplies. Some guys were okay with using the soap dispensers on the walls, but there was no way Sam was going to wash his hair with that junk. He had his belongings in a small, neat basket, not unlike what he had used in the shared showers in college. His dirty clothes were shoved into his gym bag. He had pulled the band out of his hair and shaken loose the long strands, letting them fall to barely grace the tops of his shoulders. His shower shoes were snugged onto his feet, and his towel was tucked tightly around his waist. Still, he hesitated. His slow pace had allowed him to gain control of his body and the urges that pressed at him, but he was fairly certain that seeing the blond in the shower, watching as the water sluiced along his body, how his muscles would bunch as he pushed his hair back from his face...

Sam blinked away the images too late. His body was reacting again, tenting the towel that covered him.

 _Hell with it,_ he decided. _If he can tease, so can I._

He strode toward the entryway to the showers and was almost at the corner when the blond rounded it, rubbing his own towel across his wet hair. They nearly collided, and both startled back in surprise. Sam, to his credit, recovered first.

"Enjoy your shower?" he asked, looking down at the shorter man and allowing his dark green eyes to fill with all of the thoughts he had just been having.

For a moment the blond looked as though he had been struck between his lovely, golden eyes. Sam watched the surprise melt back to the sass he had been wearing before, but not before he took in the sight of Sam's long hair surrounding his face. Even matted with sweat, Sam's favorite feature was his hair, and he always noticed when people admired it. "Could have been better," the blond quipped.

"Maybe next time, it will be." Sam tried to walk away before letting the blond reply, but he was stopped by fingertips touching his upper arm.

"You were watching me," the blond said. "Not just in here, but before. You angled yourself so you could watch me in the mirror."

How had he known? Sam had thought he was being subtle.

"Was it the mating calls?" the blond joked with a grin and an upward flick of his eyebrows. Sam couldn't help but smile back, but the humor leaked from both of them as their eyes penetrated each others.

"It wasn't your sounds that made me watch you," he replied quietly.

"No?" The blond quirked an eyebrow up at him, still smiling like he had a nefarious secret. "Do tell."

Sam let his eyes travel the face in front of him, making a show of drinking in all the details from his dampened hair now tousled from the partial drying and laying across his smooth forehead, the neatly trimmed sideburns, the thin, perfect lips, the point of his chin, and back to those amazing, whiskey-kissed eyes. He watched them understand his silent answer, and they returned a similar gaze. The short distance between their two bodies suddenly seemed smaller.

"What's your name?" Sam asked.

"If I tell you my name, will you look at more than just my face like that?"

Sam allowed heat to cross his expression. That was why the blond had been strutting around with his towel in hand. He had been waiting for Sam to see him, to really look at him. Sam gave him one better. "If you want, I'll do more than just look."

A visible shudder ran through the blond. "Gabriel," he all but whispered. "My name is Gabriel."

"Gabriel," Sam said his name softly. "I'm Sam."

 _ **.oOo.**_

 ** _"The Adventure" - Angels & Airwaves_**

 ** _.oOo._**

"I... I actually have to go," Gabriel said.

Sam nodded, but he didn't move toward the showers until Gabriel managed a few steps backwards then turned to walk the rest of the way to his locker. Sam unwound the towel from his waist and draped it on a hook protruding from the wall a safe distance from the nearest shower head.

Gabriel deposited his towel on the bench and started dressing.

Sam stood under the hot water, eyes closed, scrubbing shampoo into his long, brown hair.

Gabriel slung the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder and walked to the exit. He hesitated at the corner that led to the showers, watching the steam roll through the room. Then he left.

Sam turned off the water. He ran his hands across his hair, squeezing excess water from it before retrieving his towel.

Gabriel steered his 1974 Chevy Nova out of the gym parking lot and pressed down the accelerator, the engine growling with the increase of speed.

Sam left the showers and walked back into the locker room, towel held firmly around his waist with one hand, the other holding his basket. As he approached his locker, he saw a white business card sitting on the bench where Gabriel had been. He picked it up.

 **Gabriel Archan**

 **Graphic Designer**

 **(785) 555-3825**

He flipped the card over, and as he hoped, there was something more on the back.

 _I plan to take you up on your offer. Hear from you soon. - Gabe_


	2. Chapter 2

Large, heavy raindrops spattered Gabriel's windshield as he pointed his Nova away from the gym and out onto the road. His wipers were set as high as they could go, and though they snicked the water away rapidly, visibility was still a bitch. It was hard to focus through a haze of white to the barely seen white lines painted on the road, but it was especially difficult after the exchange he had just left behind because his mind wanted to wander.

Over the past few months, Gabriel had gotten glimpses of the tall, broad, sculpture of a man who entered the gym with no regularity. At least, he didn't keep to a schedule that Gabriel knew because Sam's visits never crossed with Gabriel's in any sort of familiar pattern. And though it may put him in stalker-type territory, after the first day he had laid eyes on Sam, he started paying attention to when their routines may intersect. So far, there didn't seem to be any pattern to Sam's gym days, so Gabriel could only do his thing and enjoy the eye candy when Sam did show up.

 _Eye candy. Heh._ Gabriel did like his candy. He rolled the strawberry lollipop already in his mouth expertly across his tongue, thinking of other things he would like to have dancing across it. He tucked it between his cheek and teeth, the stick poking out between his lips, not touching it with his hands. They were on ten and two, as they should be while driving in this downpour. Other drivers were unpredictable, and they could be just as distracted right now as he was. And he could definitely admit to himself that thoughts of Sam were a distraction.

It did kind of hurt his feelings a little that for all the times they did happen to occupy the same space, Sam hadn't looked at him at all. His only consolation with that was he knew Sam didn't pay any mind to anyone else in the gym either. He never really planned on how to get Sam's attention, but then on a sudden whim, he started on with the bedroom noises when he saw Sam coming down the stairs from the track where Gabriel had noticed he only ran on rainy days. He had had enough of being ignored, and what better way to grab someone's attention than by, well... Gabriel snickered to himself as he played it out in his mind.

He had used the mirror on the far wall of the yoga studio to watch Sam look up from that damnable MP3 player that demanded his attention to see who was making those obnoxious sounds. Oh, man, it had been hard to keep a straight face in those moments. He had been perilously close to losing it and laughing until Sam looked back down at his MP3 player. Then Gabriel had switched his eyes from mirror to man and saw Sam dart his tongue over his bottom lip and draw it into his mouth, between his teeth. Gabriel didn't know if it had been in reaction to his sounds or concentration on his next music selection, but damn, it had been hot. It made him lose his mental count of his reps and have to set the barbell on the floor. Then when Sam put himself in just the right place in the yoga studio that none of the exercise equipment in the weight room was between their two reflections in the mirror, Gabriel knew he was being watched, and he had gotten what he wanted. He was on Sam's radar.

"Sam," Gabriel murmured around the sweet flavor of the lollipop. It was nice to finally know his name now. Gabriel hadn't quite gotten to the point of coming up with his own names for him, but he found himself thinking of "the guy with the pretty hair" or "the one with the shoulders" or "that tall, sexy beast who I want to climb like a damn tree; holy fuck, he's amazing, gimme." Well, okay, maybe he was getting a little specific with that last thought. He wasn't wrong, though.

In the locker room, Gabriel had heard the door open and close, but then nobody walked past him. He wasn't sure if it was just wishful thinking or what, but he had the overwhelming feeling that someone had been staring at him. Sure enough, when he glanced back, his suspicion was verified. Not only that, but it had been exactly who he had hoped was standing there. He knew the pleasure of that knowledge had been etched all over his face, but he couldn't help it. He had, however, been able to keep his mouth in check rather than say out loud what unholy thoughts had been tumbling around in his mind. Thoughts that swirled around the fact they were about to share the shower room. And that he was finally going to get to see what lay under Sam's outer wrappings. Perhaps even...

Of course, Sam hadn't gone to the shower while Gabriel was in there. Maybe Gabriel's comment about his blushing neck had had something to do with it. Maybe. But damn if he had been able to keep that comment to himself. It had just been so, so... pretty, for one, seeing the color creep up under his sweaty, brown, man bun thing. Is that what it's called? A man bun? But it also did some rather less than humbling things for his ego that this guy whom he had been admiring for so long would react to him like that. It had emboldened him.

The faint haze of an upcoming traffic light turning from green to amber reached him through the falling rain. Gabriel carefully pressed on the brakes to bring his Nova to a stop, but the car in front of him accelerated. The light turned red, and Gabriel watched with wide eyes and the lollipop stick poking from his mouth like a tiny exclamation point as they barely avoided an accident in the middle of the intersection. The squeal of wet rubber and honking horns filled the air over the thundering of rain hitting the roof of his car, and just like that, the drivers resumed their pace and went about their business. Gabriel shook his head and vowed to snap out of his reverie, at least while he was driving in the rain. Once he got to work and got out of his car, maybe he could allow himself some daydream time before settling in for the day and dealing with clients. At least, he hoped he'd be able to focus on his job.

The light turned green, and though it was with some difficulty, Gabriel pushed Sam out of his thoughts for the time being.


	3. Chapter 3

A crack of late afternoon light blooming across the room indicated the front door of the bar opening. Dean spared a quick glance up to put an eye on his next patron before looking back down at the glass into which he was steadily pouring liquor from bottles in each hand. He set the bottles down and looked up again to greet his little brother, but Sam didn't bother with eye contact as he strode directly to the one corner booth the bar boasted. He tossed his laptop bag and loaded knapsack onto the thick, brown, faux-leather-styled vinyl bench before throwing himself in as well. A flick of his fingers toppled the RESERVED sign that lived on the tabletop. Dean kept the sign there to make sure his brother and certain select friends would always have a place to be welcome. Along with a stained glass Tiffany hanging dimly over the table, an extra lamp with a decent bulb sprouted from the wall, which Sam would sometimes use when he was working on schoolwork or research that required more than the shine of his laptop. Right now, though, Sam didn't seem interested in working on anything. His eyes were all for a small piece of paper he was turning over and over in his fingers, and the thoughtful look on his face -along with the lack of his normal greeting to his brother- made it all too clear that something was on his mind.

Dean topped the Long Island with a spritz of cola and presented it to the customer who had ordered it. Money changed hands, and a couple of bills were stuffed into a glass jar with a sign reading, "Just a tip; just to see how it feels." Dean completed the transaction at the register then rounded the back of the bar to poke his head into the kitchen beyond.

"Yo, Cas!" he called out over the sound of fizzing, bubbling grease.

"Yeah?" Cas was at a metal table, his back to Dean.

"Come out here and mind the bar, would you?"

"Dean, I just dropped some fries," he replied, turning to give Dean more of his attention. He had a basket in one hand and a tray liner in the other. "You know this."

Dean did know this. He had just sent the order back through the computer right before mixing the drink. "As soon as they come up, then," Dean said. "Sammy's here; he looks like he could use a chat."

"Fine." Cas stuffed the liner into the basket. "And hey, Jo better get here soon, 'cause I don't like being stuck back here."

Dean nodded and pulled back out of the kitchen. He knew that too. Nobody really liked working in the kitchen, but it had been simple business sense to utilize the space after he had bought the failing bar and reopened it under a new name: 1836. Most people assumed the four digits were a year, and that was partially it, but it was actually referencing Dean's favorite gun, the Texas Paterson 1836, the year Samuel Colt got the patent for that particular firearm. Every now and then a fellow weapons enthusiast would walk in and see the wood-burnt sign with crossed Colts underlining the name that hung behind the bar counter. The recognition would light in their eyes, and Dean would share a sly grin and an understanding nod with them. Ah-ha, _that's_ why the bar is named 1836.

A few minutes passed, and Cas emerged from the kitchen with a basket of steaming, salted fries and a bottle of ketchup. Dean pointed to the patron with the Long Island before realizing it was probably unnecessary. He was the only person actually sitting at the bar at this early hour, and aside from Sam, there were only two other people there. They sat together at a low, round table, pouring over some type of paperwork with untouched glasses of water spreading pools of condensation at their elbows. Why they would choose to have their meeting at a bar, Dean could only guess. Perhaps it was the quiet nature of the establishment before normal work hours let the average person out of their nine-to-five to hit the place up.

Once the food was delivered, Cas tipped the top of his head in Sam's direction, indicating to Dean that he could go talk to his brother. Before taking his leave, Dean reached for Cas's wrist and gave it a little squeeze of thanks. The familiar touch made both of them smile.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean approached the booth in the corner and slid himself onto the bench opposite his brother. He watched as the piece of paper -a business card, he thought- disappeared into Sam's lap. Sam offered a weak smile.

"Hey."

Dean started with something he thought would be a safe topic. "How were classes today?"

"Uhm, fine. They were fine. The work is really piling on, this close to the end of the semester, but nothing I can't handle."

"That's good." Deal trailed off, and his eyes cut down briefly to the edge of the table where Sam's hands were hidden in his lap. He blinked and brought his gaze up to his little brother's face. "So are you going to start talking, or are we going to play Twenty Questions?" If he hadn't been watching for it, he might have missed Sam's flinch.

"'Bout what?" Sam inquired.

Dean sighed. "Y'know, if you're going to be a lawyer, you really ought to work on being coy, 'cause right now, brother, you suck at it."

It was Sam's turn to sigh, and he brought the card back to the flat of the table. He set it down and slid it across to Dean with one finger, giving it a tap with his fingertip before pulling his hand back. Dean nipped it off the table and read the bold, black lettering out loud, skipping the phone number. He looked at Sam. "So?"

Sam shifted in his seat. "I um, I met him this morning," he mumbled.

Dean grinned and looked back down at the card to re-read the name. "And where did you meet this Gabriel Archan?"

Sam's answer was so muted, Dean had to lean across the table. "What?"

"At the gym," Sam said, only barely louder this time.

Dean chuckled. Of course his fitness freak brother would meet someone at the gym. Though Dean was honestly a little surprised it had taken this long. He turned the card across his fingers the way Sam had been earlier. It made a few rounds, end over end, before Dean realized there was writing on the back. "'I plan to take you up on your offer.' Ooh, what offer, Sammy?"

Even in the faint light of the lamp overhead, Dean watched as blood crept up to stain Sam's face, and Dean couldn't hold back a loud guffaw before reining it back in. Feeling eyes on them, he looked over to see Cas studiously wiping the bar with a clean, white rag but stealing glances up through his eyelashes. The guy with the Long Island and french fries was turned all the way around in his stool to stare, obviously without a care as to what Dean or Sam would think about his boldness.

Sam saw him staring too, and he reached for the straps of his bags while lifting himself from the bench.

"Hang on, wait. Wait; I'm sorry." Dean put a hand out to his brother. "Sit down, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam grimaced before settling back into his seat and looking at Dean rather pointedly. "No more shit."

"No more shit," Dean agreed. He waited until it was obvious Sam wouldn't be grabbing his bags and bolting. "So I guess the question is now, are you going to call him?"

"I dunno," Sam admitted. "I mean, I have a lot going on with school right now. I can't really afford a distraction at the moment, you know?"

"What distraction?" Dean asked. "He's only a distraction if you catch feelings."

"Yeah, and we don't know anyone here who caught feelings." Sam's sarcasm was thick, but Dean only smiled and cast an appreciative glance at his boyfriend behind the bar. Cas noticed him looking, and shared the smile with him.

"I just got lucky, is all." He knew his voice was layered with emotion and didn't care.

Sam snorted. "You never were a romantic 'til you met him."

"Never had a reason to be," Dean replied with a shrug as he turned back to Sam, not letting the descriptor of him being a _romantic_ be an insult. He settled against the back of the booth and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, I get that until Cas and I got together, I might have been the worst person in the world to offer relationship advice. But that's not what I'm offering now. If you don't have time for getting involved with someone, then don't. But that doesn't mean you're not allowed to have some fun. Just blow off some steam the old fashioned way, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Sam's tone of voice was anything but convincing. "It's just..." Dean waited, but Sam didn't seem to want to finish his sentence.

Dean leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, and proffered the card back to Sam. Sam eyed it for so long, Dean started to think his brother wouldn't take it. Just as Sam started to reach across the table, Dean flipped the card between his fingers so the hand-written message showed clearly. It made Sam hesitate, and Dean watched his eyes skim across the words. "Call him," Dean said, prompting Sam to take the card. "Call him and just have fun."

"I guess I can." He pocketed the card. "But not right now. I have too much homework."


	4. Chapter 4

" _Always Late" - Rizzle Kicks_

 _watch?v=S_sNJ0ODQFU_

Back behind the bar, Dean stood with Cas, both of them with arms folded and leaning back onto the stocked shelf. They watched Sam as the younger man spread out across the table. His laptop was open but slid away, a text book was also open with three different colored highlighters set next to it, and a heavy binder filled with papers sat directly in front of him. It was the binder that held his attention at the moment, and he was writing in it with a black pen while occasionally referencing something in the book, on the laptop, or both. The extra lamp on the wall illuminated everything.

Dean felt the press of Cas's upper arm against his. It was about as much affection as they would allow themselves at work. Neither of them gave a damn what other people thought of their relationship. It was merely a matter of behaving professionally while on the clock. Dean wouldn't tolerate handsy, kissy-faced behavior from his employees, and being the boss, he had to set a good example. Not that any of his other employees had shown up yet. Where the hell was Jo?

She was consistently thirty minutes late to work, so often that Dean had started scheduling her to be there thirty minutes before she actually needed to clock in, just so she'd be "on time" when she arrived "late." But now, she was another fifteen minutes past that, which made her officially late to work. Dean chewed on his lip. If she kept this up, he'd have no choice but to replace her, and he really didn't want to do that.

As he was mulling over whether he would actually fire Jo -it wasn't like the bar was particularly busy yet- the front door slammed open, and Jo lurched through as though she had been running and was only just pulling herself up to stop.

"Sorry!" she shouted. "I'm here!" Her long, blonde hair hung in wet clumps around her head. Dean blinked at that. It had stopped raining hours ago; did it start again? But no, Jo's clothes were dry. Well, except for her shoulders where her hair had dripped.

"Sorry!" Jo said again as she rounded behind the bar to tuck her purse under the counter. "A pipe burst outside my apartment, and they turned the water off to the whole building. I had to wait for it to get turned back on so I could take a shower. And _trust me_ , you wanted me to take a shower."

Dean shared a glance with Cas who smirked knowingly. Jo's excuses were getting better. Cas lifted away from his lean and the warm press of Dean's arm. "You will be needing another one after work too; you're on kitchen duty first."

Jo groaned in reply, but she didn't argue. No, no one liked being in the kitchen, but Dean also knew the division of labor between Jo and Cas worked out to both of their favors. As the bar got busier throughout the night, despite his earlier complaint about not liking being stuck back there, Cas would want to get away from people, and that meant hiding in the kitchen. Jo, on the other hand, thrived as more and more customers packed themselves at the bar and shouted for drinks. During her kitchen time, she would only go in there when food was ordered. Otherwise, she'd be mingling with the patrons, taking orders, running drinks, and busing tables while Cas stayed behind the bar to mix drinks for people at the counter and fill Jo's running orders for other patrons throughout the bar. Dean shook his head; no, even though she was always late, he couldn't get rid of her. She was too good at her job, and she was too good of a friend.

 **.oOo.**

A glass of ice water was set at Sam's table. He blinked at it and looked up to see Jo's smiling face. "Oh, hey," he said. "Thanks."

"Hey yourself, college boy," Jo slipped into the booth across from him. "Staying busy, I see."

Sam nodded and drank deeply of the water. It was customary of Jo to deliver it to him after she had been at work for an hour. She was good at taking care of people, even when not asked to do so. Left to his own devises, Sam wouldn't have had anything to eat or drink until he came to a good stopping point in his work. He knew it wasn't good for him, but he just got too absorbed in what he was doing to notice when his body needed sustenance. It was good to have Jo around to make sure he was properly taken care of, which is why he tended to do his homework at the bar rather than at home, where he would be alone.

Not that being alone bothered him, really. Sam liked his solitude. But when he had admitted to neglecting himself when alone, Jo -despite being younger than Sam- had taken him under her wing like an older sibling and looked out for his well-being by insisting he do at least a few hours' worth of his homework at the bar while she kept him hydrated and fed. There were some nights when he was able to buzz through his work quickly enough that she never got a chance to feed him. Those nights, he'd take himself to the gym if he hadn't already gone that morning.

It was a little frustrating sometimes that his classes and schoolwork dictated his visits to the gym. He used to go regularly, but as he got closer and closer to his goal of becoming a lawyer, his hours were becoming more erratic. There were some days he'd skip his workouts entirely simply because his mental exhaustion was so overpowering. But the last thing he wanted was to completely ignore his body for the sake of his education. It was bad enough that he'd skip dinner if not for Jo.

How was he even supposed to plan something with this Gabriel guy when he didn't even know when he could get to the gym on any given day, let alone time for social activities? Sam sighed and gulped down more of the cold water.

"Not too chatty today, huh?" Jo asked. Before Sam could answer, she popped up from her seat and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'll let you get back to it. I have to act like I'm busy too."

Sam smirked at her retreating back. Jo never had to _act_ like she was busy; aside from the few times she'd pop over to check on him, she was constantly buzzing through the bar with something to do. Despite the times Dean has complained about her lack of punctuality, he knew his brother was extremely grateful to have her there. He finished off his water, knowing that once he set the glass down again, he'd get absorbed into his work, and returned his attention to the papers before him.

" _The Closing Song" - Red Peters_

 _watch?v=yNCVriK5PjI_

The familiar chords of the final song of the night pricked at the back of Sam's mind, causing him to blink in surprise that he had been so immersed in his studies that he had stayed until two o'clock. He looked around the bar as voices of regular patrons who stayed 'til closing time chimed in with the vocals. Cas had propped open the front door and was standing by, graciously nodding, smiling, and slapping shoulders as patrons left, but Sam knew what he was really making sure people had designated drivers or were getting ride-shares to get home safely. It was part of what made 1836 so popular. While the crass words of the song might not show it, the owner and staff all cared about their patrons' well-being. It was a far cry from the state the place was in before Dean bought it and revamped it.

Sam stretched his arms above his head, arching back to pop his spine in a few places. That was when he noticed the untouched basket of potato skins across the table from his open books. Just like she delivered him a glasses of water, Jo made a point of throwing together some food for him before closing the kitchen an hour before last call. She had apparently delivered it to him an hour and a half ago, and he hadn't even noticed. Just as well; he didn't really enjoy the selections they offered in the bar even when it was fresh, and by now the cheese had congealed and was shiny with oil. Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste before gathering his belongings to pack up. The last thing he did was flick off the extra lamp bolted to the wall. The song drew to a close as the last few patrons filed out the door, saying their goodbyes to Cas. He closed the door securely and locked it then turned to Jo who was already flipping chairs onto the few tables.

"You already cash out?" he asked her.

"Yep. Not bad for a Wednesday, but tomorrow will be better," Jo grinned in response.

Sam glanced over at Dean who was counting down the register for the evening. He left his bags at the corner booth and asked Cas what he could do to help. Cas didn't hesitate to set him on a task. With the kitchen already closed and cleaned, the four of made short work of doing the same on the bar side. Sam didn't officially work there, but on the nights he took over the booth until closing, he felt it was the least he could do. Plus, he genuinely enjoyed spending time with his brother, his boyfriend-in-law -as he liked to joke since Dean _still_ hadn't asked the guy to marry him, though Sam knew he wanted to-, and the girl who was practically a sister to all of them. If that time happened to be spent wiping surfaces, sweeping, mopping, and taking trash bags out to the dumpster, so be it. They were his family, and Sam cherished the time he got to spend with them.


End file.
